


sweet music playing in the dark

by callunavulgari



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 14:38:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18033590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callunavulgari/pseuds/callunavulgari
Summary: “I noticed some time ago that you seem to have an appreciation for jazz.” Connor pauses, his fingers hesitating over an old Billie Holiday album. He plucks it from the shelf and removes it from its case, slotting the disc into the antique player Hank bought at some kid’s yard sale in 2019. He glances up at Hank as Billie’s smooth, smoky voice begins to fill the room. He smiles. “I’d wondered if that meant you enjoyed dancing as well.”Hank snorts and gives Connor his second best sneer. “I’d need a partner for that, kid.”





	sweet music playing in the dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anifanatical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anifanatical/gifts).



> So. First of all, I would like to apologize. This fic is not the fic that I wanted to write for you. It is almost the _start_ of what I wanted to write for you. I seized on the domestic fluff portion of your prompt and used it as an excuse to write the scene that I've been wanting to write since I finished the game. However, it was supposed to go beyond that scene. Technically, there was supposed to be a scene or two before this one. There was going to be a smattering of smut, dog walks, cooking, Connor giving Hank a shave, Hank with braids in his hair, and eventually, there was going to be fretting over Valentine's day. 
> 
> This obviously did not happen. Long story short my brother was arrested a few weeks ago and it's been completely awful for my family ever since. My stress levels have been sky rocketing and I have never before wished to be a lawyer, but I do now. The deadline crept up on me and I ran out of time. 
> 
> Your art is wonderful and I was so excited when I got you as my recipient, so I will write you WHATEVER YOU WANT at some point in the future. When my head is on straight again. But until then... Happy Valentine's Day. I hope you like this.

“I noticed some time ago that you seem to have an appreciation for jazz.”

Connor pauses, his fingers hesitating over an old Billie Holiday album. He plucks it from the shelf and removes it from its case, slotting the disc into the antique player Hank bought at some kid’s yard sale in 2019. He glances up at Hank as Billie’s smooth, smoky voice begins to fill the room. He smiles. “I’d wondered if that meant you enjoyed dancing as well.”

Hank snorts and gives Connor his second best sneer. “I’d need a partner for that, kid.”

Connor blinks. He cocks his head to one side, LED pulsing yellow against his temple.

“Lieutenant,” Connor starts slowly, his lips pursing a little funny around the word, like he doesn’t like the taste of it in his mouth. “I have been your partner for one hundred and eighty two days, thirteen hours, and forty-three minutes. I had not thought that you’d forgotten.”

Hank stares at him for a long moment, searching for any indication that this is some kind of joke. But no, Connor’s face has adapted the earnest, concerned expression that he usually reserves for crying mothers or scared pets. There’s a cute little divot between his brows and he- yes, he seems to be entirely serious.

“Connor,” Hank says, and stops, because goddammit he doesn’t know how to finish this sentence. He scrubs a hand through his hair and avoids Connor’s eyes. “Jesus, kid. We aren’t- I mean, we’re not exactly like that. There are different _types_ of partners-”

“I am aware of the definition of partner, Lieutenant,” Connor interrupts, his tone just this side of snide. “ _However_ , I was programmed to seem as believably human as possible and I assure you, I _can_ dance. I told you before. I can be what you want me to be.”

“Yeah, but-”

A hand catches his, and Connor is drawing him up off the couch slowly, one hand in his, the other catching Hank around the hips and guiding him to his feet. Despite the support, Hank nearly staggers anyway. His hand tightens around Connor’s, the other fetching up against his chest.

“Dance with me, Lieutenant,” Connor tells him, his voice a sweet murmur in the dark. Hank can feel Connor’s breath against his face as he uses his hold on Hank’s body to tug them closer together. Instinctively, Hank’s hands settle against Connor’s hips, and then jolt away as if burned.

Connor gives him a look of quiet disapproval and pointedly resettles Hank’s hands on his waist.

They sway together in the dark, the quiet enveloping them like a warm cocoon. Billie’s voice croons softly in the background. The tv is still on, giving the living room a muted blue glow. Hank can hear Sumo snoring in the kitchen. If he tried, Hank could probably hear his own heartbeat. Hell, Connor is probably listening to it right now.

He licks his lips and says, a bit gruffly, “This ain’t exactly swing dancing, Connor.”

Connor’s mouth twitches up on one side.

“It is not,” he agrees, and then after a pause, “Would you like it to be? I am merely taking my cues from you, Lieutenant. I could lead if you’d like.”

Teasingly, he gives Hank a spin. It’s a little thing, a quick twirl out before he reels Hank back in again, but it sets Hank’s already high blood pressure galloping upwards as his heart starts working overtime. He knows that his cheeks have gone ruddy, can feel the heat of them. Knows that Connor’s probably analyzing him right this second - the speed of his heart, the flush on his cheeks, the dilation of his eyes - he should probably just be glad that he hasn’t licked him yet.

He coughs, and puts the brakes on that line of thought. “Would you quit calling me that?”

Connor blinks at him politely, but there’s still something distinctly impish about the twist to his lips when he asks, “So, what should I call you?”

“It’s _Hank_ ,” he says with a groan, dropping his head to Connor’s shoulder and grinding his forehead against the swell of it. “You know that it’s Hank when we’re at home.”

Connor hums a note of agreement, and says, “My apologies, Lieutenant.”

Hank sighs, his fingers tightening around Connor’s waist. He should stop this now, while it’s just dancing.

“Hank,” Connor murmurs against his ear. “I meant Hank.”

“Connor-” Hank starts, wincingly lifting his head from Connor’s shoulder.

“We have been living with one another for over half the time we have spent as partners,” Connor interrupts, his voice soothing. He looks at Hank, holding his gaze nice and steady as his fingertips trace patterns against the sliver of bare skin showing above his waistband. “We spend as much as sixty-eight percent of our time together on any given week. You take your meals in my presence.”

“That’s not-” Hank starts, and Connor plows ahead, a steely look in his eye.

“You have a smile that you reserve specifically for me. You demonstrate a frequent need for physical contact. Your heart rate is elevated when I stand too closely. Your skin flushes. Your pupils dilate.”

“Oh,” Hank says weakly. “Is that all?”

Connor smiles at him. “No. You also spend a good deal of time looking at my mouth.”

Hank swallows. “That’s-”

_Embarrassing._

“It’s perfectly fine, Hank,” Connor tells him. “I don’t mind it.”

Hank scoffs. “Not minding-”

Connor claps a hand over Hank’s mouth. His eyes are dark, his lips wet, and they might not be dancing anymore but he’s still so close. The hand that isn’t over Hank’s mouth is still on Hank’s hip, thumbs brushing against bare skin.

“Let me finish,” Connor hisses in an urgent whisper. “I _like_ your attention. I like that you look at me. I like that you touch me. I like that you talk while you’re eating and that you snore like a bear. I like _you_. Trust me when I say that if you were going to define our partnership as anything other than romantic, you would be quite mistaken.”

Connor’s hand has gone slightly slack against his lips. Hank raises an eyebrow at him. “Am I allowed to speak now?”

Connor narrows his eyes. “Only if you have something good to say.”

Hank snorts as Connor pulls his hand away. He shakes his head. “You really are something, you know.”

Connor’s lips quirk upwards into a cheeky smile. He leans in close, until their lips are inches apart, and whispers, “Come to bed with me, Lieutenant.”

Hank hesitates. 

But only for a moment.


End file.
